His own inlay glinting, the redhead just narrows his eyes. He's not bothered by weirdness, although he couldn't tell you why he doesn't care. The distant end of the bridge where he came from starts to fade out of sight, and a bit of a breeze drifts over the bridge.

"Feels real enough," he says finally, taking a step towards the edge and looking down. "But you're right. Vines don't lead to bridges."